"By George, that's very considerate of Isard. He's not at all the sort of fellow I should have expected a thing of that sort from. Well, Miss Vidal, you've got the experience of travelling under an armed escort. Quite romantic, isn't it?" "Quite. But, as you say, it's very kind of Captain Isard all the same," answered Clare, the only one who was behind the scenes as to the situation. Lamont's warning to herself had been urgent and definite, yet her brother-in-law's provoking obstinacy had caused him to put off and put off. The limit of the time named must nearly have been reached, and, remembering this, secretly she hailed the presence of those armed police with a feeling of devout thankfulness. "But--is there really any danger?" said her sister anxiously. "Because if there is, I, for one, vote we turn back." "Danger! Pho!" rapped out Fullerton contemptuously. "I suppose Lamont has been putting about one of his chronic scares, or something of that sort. Turn back? No fear. We're in for a jolly trip." Whereby it is manifest that in a small place like Gandela, things will leak out. Assuredly nothing could look more peaceful than the aspect of things as they pulled up at the mixture of store and wayside inn where they were to outspan after the first stage. The wild veldt, aglow in the shimmering heat, the drowsy hum of native voices, the sleepiness and calm of the place--no suggestion of a cataclysm lay here. "Hallo, Langrishe!" sang out Wyndham, as a lank, parchment-faced man lounged forward, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. "Any news? We're bound for Buluwayo. How's the scare getting on?" "Scare? I don't know nuth'n about any bloomin' scare, and don't want to." "Don't believe in it, eh?" The storekeeper fired off a very contemptuous ejaculation, and turned to help Wyndham to unharness the mules. Fullerton also bore a hand, contriving however to be of more hindrance than help. "What'll you take, sergeant?" said Wyndham, as, the above operation completed, they adjourned to the bar. The sergeant named his--and taking up the usual dice-box Wyndham and Fullerton threw between them. "Mine," pronounced the former. "By the way, Langrishe, there are a dozen thirsty police outside. Serve them a good tot all round." In the rough dining-room a small Makalaka boy was spreading a murky cloth on a murkier table. The inhabitants of the room were mostly flies, and, incidentally, Lucy and Clare. But they were used to these little defects of detail, by that time. "Can't give you anything but tinned stuff, ladies," said Langrishe, gruffly apologetic. "Everything fresh has died of the drought or the rinderpest."